Reunion (14 page)

Kirby glanced around at the roses scattered all over the place and nodded. Then his gaze moved from the body being moved onto a gurney to a nearby car.

“What the hell happened to that car?” Kirby asked.

Whitehall pointed. “I only do human bodies, not car bodies. Ask him.”

Kirby turned. Ray Bush was heading his way.

“Sorry to get you out like this,” Ray said.

Kirby pointed toward a car parked beneath a streetlight, though the light was out and the car was sitting in shadows.

“What’s the deal with the car? It looks like someone took a bat to it.”

Ray shrugged. “Kids, maybe. Who knows?”

Kirby frowned. The hood of the car was all but destroyed. Huge dents peppered the entire surface. But something about it didn’t sit right.

“I don’t think it was kids.”

Ray looked up. “Why not? There’s plenty of them down here who would willingly do worse for less reason than the fact that it was here.”

“I know, but it just doesn’t fit. You’re asking me to believe there were two separate crimes here. Vandals hammered a car, and then someone whacked Henry Loo…or vice versa. Whichever came first.”

Ray flipped through his notes. “I’ve got several reports of hearing a car horn go off.”

“You mean, someone was honking a horn?”

“Not honking per se. Honking like this.”

Ray pulled the keys from his own pocket, aimed them at his car and pressed a button. Immediately the horn began to sound in a loud and intermittent blast. He pressed it again, and the horn went silent.

Kirby glanced at the car again as Ray continued.

“We think maybe Henry Loo hit the Panic button, hoping for help. Obviously, help didn’t come fast enough to save him.”

Kirby’s frown deepened. “Maybe the killer bashed the car, trying to silence the alarm.”

Ray glanced over his shoulder to the woman standing at the edge of a crowd.

“Why don’t you ask her? She said this was going to happen. Maybe now she can tell you why.”

Kirby spun around, instantly picking Laura Dane out of the gathering crowd.

“It’s four minutes after three in the morning. What the hell is she doing here?”

Ray shrugged. “She came with that old fellow over there. Got here about fifteen minutes after I did.”

“Who called her?”

“As far as I know, nobody. Hell, Kirby. She’s got a line of communication going that I don’t understand. Maybe she’s on the spook hotline. Besides that, we got some information back on her that you might like to know. You know those calls you wanted made on the names and numbers in her book?”

“Yeah, what about them?”

“Not only does she have a sparkling reputation, but she’s rich as sin. One of the detectives said that every cop he talked to about her swears she’s for real. It seems she’d helped every one of them in solving dead-end cases.”

Kirby stared at her for a long, intense moment, then took a deep breath, as if he’d just made a painful decision. He started toward her with fixed intent.

“Miss Dane.”

Her face was pale. Every now and then she bit at the edge of her lower lip, as if trying not to cry. Her eyes were wide and filled with horror as she watched the coroner’s car leaving with what was left of Henry Loo.

“Why did you let this happen?” she whispered. “I warned you. I warned all of you.” Mike Travers put his arms around her. Weak from spent emotion, she leaned against him and covered her face. “Why don’t they ever believe me?”

“Come along, Laura dear. You’ve seen enough,” Mike said softly, trying to urge her toward the car.

“Who are you?” Kirby asked, eyeing the older man closely and trying to picture him in the act of breaking necks with one blow. No matter how hard he looked, the image wouldn’t come. In fact, the old man looked as if a strong wind would knock him off his feet.

“I’m Dr. Michael Travers,” he said. “Gabriel Connor is like a son to me, and I’m the one who called Miss Dane into this mess. In a way, we’re colleagues.”

“Are you claiming to be a psychic, too?” Kirby asked.

Travers shook his head. “Only a psychiatrist.”

Kirby frowned. In his mind, they were one and the same.

“How did you two come to be out here in this part of town at this time of the morning?”

Mike looked down at Laura. “She called me, very distraught and pleading for a ride. I gave her one.”

Kirby glanced back at Laura. “Why, Miss Dane? How did you know to come out here? Who called you?”

“Only hours ago, I told you what would happen. No one had to call me. I already knew.” It was evident by the tone of her voice that she was angry. It was all she could do not to scream at him. Then she shuddered. “I went to sleep around ten. When I woke up, I knew it was over. I had to come see for myself.”

“How?” Kirby persisted. “Did you—”

Still angry, she said, “I’m not the one you need to be questioning. I already told you all I know. You chose to disregard it. I doubt there’s anything else I can say that would be of interest to you.”

He stared at her, remembering what Ray had just told him and trying to understand what it would be like to live with an ability like hers.

“Look, Miss Dane, you have to understand something. I deal in facts, and—”

She interrupted. “One fact is certain. Henry Loo is dead, and Gabriel is still behind bars.”

Kirby frowned. “What does that last fact have to do with the first?”

Laura wrapped her arms around herself and swallowed, trying to calm her nerves.

“Obviously nothing, now,” she said shortly. Then she glanced back at the scene of the crime. “The car. Who did it belong to?”

Kirby’s frown deepened. “The victim. Why?”

She worried at the edge of her lower lip again and then looked at Kirby with new intent. “May I touch it?”

Her request took him aback. “What? The car?”

She nodded.

“Why on earth would you want to?”

She almost smiled. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. Please. May I?”

Kirby shrugged and then lifted the yellow crime scene tape for her to slip under.

“Come with me. I’ll see if forensics is finished.”

Laura was right at his heels, with Mike not far behind. Moments later, she was standing in front of the car and absorbing what was left of a rage she couldn’t understand.

Ray Bush cocked his head to one side and then leaned down and whispered in Kirby’s ear. “What’s she doing?” he asked.

Kirby scratched at the bald spot on his head. “Beats me. Said she wanted to touch the car. Far as I’m concerned, she can pretend she’s the damned hood ornament if it will get her off my back.”

Laura took a deep breath, laid the flat of her hand on the car and then closed her eyes. The surrounding noise faded into the background as her mind slid into another place. A long, silent minute passed, but Laura was unaware of the time.

Kirby began to fidget, wishing he’d run her ass off instead of playing this game. Ray Bush stared, curious as to what made someone like her tick. Mike Travers felt every one of his sixty-seven years and then some, and wished he could turn the clock back to a happier time. To a time when Brent and Angela were still alive, and Gabriel didn’t question his own sanity every time he took a new breath. One second ticked into another and another, so when Laura suddenly spoke, it startled them all.

“He did it,” she said softly. “He did this with his fists.”

All three men stared at the car, trying to picture the strength it would take to put dents the size of grapefruits into the hood of Henry Loo’s car.

Ray surprised himself by asking, “Who did, Miss Dane?”

“The killer. The man who looks like Gabriel.”

Mike Travers took a step forward and placed his hand on Laura’s shoulder. A muscle flinched beneath his fingers as her body adjusted to his touch.

“Why, Laura? Why did he do it?”

Her head dropped forward, as if she were falling asleep. “The noise. He was trying to stop the noise.”

Ray snapped his fingers. “The alarm that Henry set off! By God, he was trying to stop that horn!”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Kirby argued. “If you’ve just killed someone, you don’t beat the shit out of some car. You run.”

Laura sighed, and the sound came up and out of her like a faint but clear wail. “He wasn’t angry. He was in pain. Sound causes pain.”

She slumped forward, and if Mike hadn’t been standing so close, she might have fallen.

Kirby started to scoff, but there was a look in her eyes that stopped him cold. Damned if he wasn’t starting to believe her.

“Miss Dane, I’ve got a favor to ask of you.”

Laura wiped a shaky hand across her face and then looked up. “Yes?”

“Would you consider coming to my office to look at some pictures?”

Her stomach turned. She knew what the pictures would be, and the thought of looking at the rest of Prince Charming’s handiwork made her sick.

“Not tonight.”

He accepted that. “Okay, but soon.”

She looked at Mike. He shrugged, as if to say this had to be her call.

Kirby couldn’t believe he was even doing this, but at this point in the case, he had little else to go on.

“I have to be in Enid by three tomorrow afternoon. Give me a call when you’re ready.”

“All I want now is for you to let Gabriel go.”

It was five minutes to five in the morning when Gabriel entered his home. He glanced at the security alarm and grimaced. It hadn’t been set. Damn. He hadn’t thought about it beforehand, but his grandstand demand to be locked up last night had meant that Laura would have had to spend the entire night in this house alone. Sometimes the place even intimidated him, and he’d been raised here. He could only imagine how uneasy she must have felt, alone in a house this size.

Suddenly the need to see her, to touch her, to assure himself that she was all right, overwhelmed him. He tossed his keys on the hall table and started upstairs. With every beat of his heart, her name sounded in his head. Stronger than the intruder’s voice—stronger than the fear that had become a constant companion.

Laura. Laura. Laura.

D
awn was breaking as Laura stepped into the shower. She had yet to go to bed. She’d come home from the scene of the crime with only one thought on her mind, and that was to bathe away the stench of that alley in which Henry Loo had died. As soon as Mike Travers had dropped her off at the Connor estate, she’d entered the house, locking the door behind her. Before she was halfway up the stairs, she had her clothes unbuttoned. By the time she’d reached her room, she was carrying her shoes. She stopped outside the door and began stripping off her clothes, tossing them aside to be carried to the laundry room later. Right now, all she could think about was ridding herself of any reminders of what she’d seen.

A few minutes later she stepped beneath the shower without waiting for it to heat, letting the water pepper her skin. The first burst of the spray was cold, but the need to be free of that murder scene was stronger than the chill, and so she stayed. It wasn’t long before a steady stream of warmth began engulfing her, steaming the stall and causing her hair to curl even closer to her head. Closing her eyes, she took a step closer to the spray and lifted her face, welcoming the warm, even flow upon her body.

One minute passed into the next, and then the next, as she tried to get past the sight of Henry Loo lying on the street near his car.

In her mind’s eye, she could still see the way his eyes had appeared. Earlier today they’d been sparkling with wit. Tonight they’d been little more than sightless slits in an aging face. His mouth, so easy to tilt into a smile of welcome in greeting customers, had been swollen and puffy. The smile on his face had died with his heart, leaving him with nothing but some blood drying near his chin.

She turned around, letting the spray pelt her back as it kneaded the tension-filled muscles in her neck and down her spine. But when she opened her eyes, the floor seemed to tilt. She grabbed for the walls to steady herself, but it was no use. Her legs gave way. She sank to her knees. Burying her face in her hands, she started to cry.

Gabriel found her that way, drenched and sobbing, unable to stop either the flow of water or her tears. Overwhelmed with guilt for having involved her in this hell, he opened the shower door and turned off the water. He reached for her with one hand and for a towel with the other. Wrapping her in its warmth as he would have a child, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

“Ah, baby, don’t cry. Don’t cry. I’m so, so sorry we got you into this mess.”

Laura threw her arms around Gabriel’s neck and buried her face against his chest while the tears continued to fall.

“Why didn’t they believe me?” she sobbed. “No one ever believes until it’s too late.”

Gabriel hurt. He hurt for her, and for himself, and for a man named Henry Loo.

“It’s not your fault any more than it’s mine,” he said, and lay down beside her.

She curled into him, fitting herself to his body and holding on as if she might never let go.

Her panic worried him. It was apparent that Laura’s world was very unstable, although up until now, her demeanor had seemed just the opposite. He’d only had to live with this “knowing” for less than a month and couldn’t imagine having to live within such parameters for the rest of his life. This whole mess was so damned bizarre he could hardly think. There wasn’t anything he could say that would make it better, because right now, there was no end in sight.

They lay without moving, without speaking, until heartbeats slowed and the aftershock of Laura’s breakdown was little more than an occasional shudder.

Laura felt numb. She couldn’t think past the feel of Gabriel’s hands upon her back—of his breath upon her face. She closed her eyes, remembering what it felt like to come apart in his arms. Outside, another day was just beginning, but for Laura, yesterday would never be over. She shifted closer to Gabriel and buried her face against his chest. She wanted to feel alive, to forget what death looked like, if only for a while.

His heartbeat was strong against her cheek—as strong as the hold he had upon her body. She sighed. Dear God, how she loved this man, but the way things were going, there was no guarantee that they would both survive to explore that love.

She’d
seen
herself about to die at his hands. But she’d also
seen
him killing Henry Loo, and that hadn’t happened. She’d never been this wrong before, but she wasn’t about to question her fallibility. This time she wanted to be wrong in the very worst way. Ignoring the last of a lingering shudder, she rose up on one elbow to gaze into Gabriel’s eyes.

“Gabriel?”

His eyes filled with wonder as he looked upon her face. She was so damned beautiful it made him ache. He traced the path of a tiny blue vein along the side of her neck and then cupped the side of her face. His voice was soft, his touch gentle.

“What, baby?”

“I’m afraid.”

“I know. Sometimes so am I.”

Then he pulled her back down into his arms and began combing his fingers through her short, damp curls, marveling at the silky feel of them upon his skin. But when she tensed and then started to shake, something occurred to him, something she’d said before, something bad, something ugly.

“Laura?”

She shifted in his arms, her voice muffled against his chest. “What?”

“I know you’re afraid…but please God, tell me you’re not afraid of me?”

Her hesitation was brief, but it was enough to make him sick. He turned her loose and had started to roll out of bed when she caught him by the arm. The plea in her voice and the terror on her face were enough to give him pause.

“Don’t go! For God’s sake, don’t leave me now. I feel like I’m dying inside.” Her voice caught on a sob as a fresh set of tears suddenly blinded her. “Make love to me, Gabriel. I’m so tired of death. Make me remember what it feels like to live.”

He rolled, pinning her to the bed with both his body and a hard, intent stare.

He cursed beneath his breath, resisting the urge to shake her. “Why, Laura? Why me?”

She encircled his neck with her arms and then tugged, urging him back to her.

“Because I can’t help it. I love you, Gabriel. If you can’t return the favor, then lie to me, because right now I don’t think I could stand knowing the truth.”

His expression mirrored hers—torn with indecision and filled with grief, both for the victims they couldn’t save and the horror they couldn’t escape.

“Considering the situation we’re in, making love to you is probably the biggest mistake we can continue to make,” he said harshly. “But it damned sure won’t be a lie. You’re in my blood. Your scent envelopes me. I want to be so deep inside of you that—”

She tore the damp towel from between their bodies and tossed it onto the floor, then started taking off his clothes.

“Then do it. Make love to me, Gabriel. Make me crazy in love.”

He did, and created a magic that lasted just over three days.

A warm beam of sunshine broke through the overhead clouds, piercing the leaves of the trees under which he was sleeping and centering on the curve of his strong, handsome face. There was a healing cut on his cheek, a weariness to his features that even sleep could not disguise. His clothes were the worse for wear, and his shoes were still wet from the last place he’d been hiding. His bag lay nearby, the contents slightly scattered, as if it had dropped and spilled when he’d slid to the ground in exhaustion.

Other than his dirty clothes, it didn’t contain anything of consequence—a couple of used, disposable razors he’d dug out of the trash and a comb he’d picked up off the street. A single rose lay near his cheek, the scent engulfing him as he slept. He’d taken it from a bush less than two hours ago, before he’d stumbled onto this place and collapsed, nearly blind from lack of sleep. And now he dreamed with the sweet smell guiding him.

The dream was simple. One he’d had many times over in his life, but never with more meaning than he dreamed it now. He was walking with his mother in her garden. The garden was filled with roses. Roses growing up trellises, abundant on bushes, in as many colors as a rainbow. And then the dream began to change. He was still in the garden, but his mother was nowhere in sight. He began to run, from one path to another, crying out her name.

He shifted restlessly in his sleep. He was lost. Even in his dreams, he was lost. He needed to find home. If he could find home, he could find his mother. Mother would know what to do. Mother would fix everything.

The muscles in his shoulders began to twitch, and he shifted again, readjusting his great size to accommodate the small space in which he was lying. He was tired, so tired. Tired of running. Tired of hiding. Tired of being afraid.

A few blocks over, a gaggle of preschoolers walked hand in hand down the sidewalk with the attendants from their day care. Seventeen tiny bits of life that were just starting to live. As they neared the park, anticipation shone in the sparkle of an eye, the curve of a smile, the hushed whispers of shared joy. Once there, they knew they would be allowed to run free, if only for a while. They ran from the swings to the slides, running and squealing if for no other reason than the joy of being alive.

A short while later, the children were playing at full tilt. Their periodic shrieks could be heard all over the park. Most of them were gregarious little individuals with definite goals. To always be first.

And then there was Lelly. A tiny, blue-eyed charmer with a sweet, baby face and a foot that just wasn’t right. Lelly ran with the others and played just as hard. But she could never, would never, be first. Once in a while, like today, she would withdraw from the melee and find her own peace in her own special way.

Billy T. had taken her ball, only to run away screaming in pretend terror and leaving Lelly with no option but to sit and wait for him to come back. One minute turned into another and another, until it became evident to Lelly that Billy T. wasn’t going to bring back her ball. Silent tears pooled in her round, baby eyes as she turned and limped away toward the shade trees at the edge of the park.

She sat down on a log and then started to cry in earnest. One silent sob after another, the tears rolled.

Crouched behind the bushes that separated the play area from the trees, he watched in consternation as the little girl began to cry. In his way, he recognized the misery for what it really was. In spite of his reticence toward people, he sensed a kinship with the child he could never have explained. Without thought of the consequences, he slipped through the bushes, coming to within mere feet of where she was sitting.

Startled by the sounds behind her, the child turned. Silently she stared at the giant on his knees who was only a short distance away. Her first instinct was to run. But when he neither moved nor spoke, her eyes widened in curiosity, and her tears ceased.

From the time Lelly could remember, she’d been taught repeatedly not to talk to strangers. But when this one smiled, for some unexplainable reason, she sensed a kindred spirit. Somehow, this time the warning didn’t apply.

He touched his cheek and then pointed at hers. Lelly sniffled and then swiped at the tears with the palms of her hands.

“Been cryin’,” she said, rather matter-of-factly.

His dark eyes suddenly glistened with unshed tears, and he rocked back on his heels, listening intently.

“Billy T. took my ball.”

He looked toward the children in the distance. Even from here, the noise of their play made him nervous. But the little girl’s plight was strong enough to make him stay for a brief moment more.

From across the way, Miss Smith, Lelly’s teacher, began calling for them to gather. She sighed and then stood.

“I goin’ now,” she said.

Then a soft whisper stopped her. “Wait.”

She looked nervously toward the gathering children, then she sighed and looked back at the man. Again her nervousness dissipated as he extended his hand.

“For me?” she asked.

He nodded and smiled.

Her tiny fingers curled around the thornless stem as she lifted the bloom up to her nose. She sniffed deeply as she’d been taught to do and smiled when the sweet scent of fresh rose filled her nose.

The teacher called out again, and this time Lelly broke free and ran, clutching the rose to her breast. For now it no longer mattered that her stride wasn’t smooth, or that Billy T. had taken her ball. She had something special.

Marie Smith was an old hand at taking care of children. She had worked at County Day Care for over seven years and was counting heads for the second time when Lelly slipped into line. She rolled her eyes and then sighed.

“Leslie Morgan Dean, where have you been? Didn’t you hear me calling?”

Lelly ducked her head. When Miss Smith called her by her entire name, she knew she was in big trouble.

If Billy T. hadn’t pulled at Lelly’s hair, causing her to yelp, Marie might have missed seeing the rose in the little girl’s hand. But she did see it, and the incongruity of its presence prompted her to ask, “Lelly, where did you get that? You’re not supposed to pick flowers without permission.”